I know blind date stories are a bit cliche these days, but this one is just too good. This is the story of the time I met a man named Al.
Now, you might be thinking, 'who the heck goes on blind dates anymore?' Well, the answer is me, back in 1987. My friend Joanna was really pressing me to go see this guy named Al that she knew. She insisted he would be 'perfect, darling, just perfect' for me. Oh boy.
At 6 in the evening on a Saturday night, I sat in a booth at a ratty old diner, lips locked in a mild grimace, eyes scanning for a man Joanna had told to wear his baby blue button up shirt. As ordered, I wore a purple t-shirt.
Al arrived three minutes late, wearing that baby blue button up. He didn't look too bad with his sandy blonde hair and goatee, but he had a hint of wildness in his eyes. I wondered whether that was attractive or unsettling as we introduced.
'Hi, I'm Al!'
Ah, the formalities. I hate these. I introduced myself quickly and sat down. As we waited for our food, we played an awkward game of questions. Al worked at a box factory. I was the manager of a video rental store. Al liked war movies. I did not like war movies.
The whole time, he was stacking the butter cups into a pyramid, which was just absolutely lovely. I thought to myself, is this guy a twelve year old?
So when a man barged into the diner with a gun, demanding money, I was surprised (to put it mildly) when Al put a finger over his smiling lips, then sneaked behind the burglar and whacked him on the back of the neck, knocking him out cold. He handed the gun to the lady behind the counter before calmly returning to his seat with a sheepish grin. The whole rest of the date, I just stared at him.
Nope. Sorry. I didn't give him a second date.